


Forever in an instant

by TheonlyDan



Category: Mistaken/The Double Life of Eleanor Kendall (2008), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Crossover, Cursed Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Emma as the nicer version of the times when she was the Dark One, Eventual Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/F, Go watch Lana's movie plz, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-17 18:02:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18970246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheonlyDan/pseuds/TheonlyDan
Summary: (Bad at summary.)Emma Swan, a vampire who was almost 200 years old, now lived in Paris, searching for what she thought she wanted--true love.Nellie Givens--Eleanor Kendall, her maiden name--a single mom with a daughter, was coping with life, the now and then loneliness, and the unknown emptiness that gnawed her heart.What if they crashed into each other's lives, and found out that all of this was not a coincidence?What would they uncover together?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This belongs to the Swanqueen fandom. Don't like, don't read.

_Darkness._

_Total darkness. Then suddenly, she can see the light again; except this time, she doesn’t need the sweet, sweet oxygen to wake up._

_Red._

_Red is everywhere. She can see them, smell them and taste them. No, it is something entirely different. It is too sweet and surreal to be true._

_It is blood._

 

Emma woke up without cold sweat nor blood-poundings in her ears. She was used to bad dreams and a heart without a beat since hundreds of years ago.

She sighed.

It wasn’t always that unpleasant to relive the day that she was reborn.

She got out of bed slowly, not wanting to disturb her pet girl (whose name was Mila or Minnie), went to the kitchen to microwave herself a glass of blood.

She could hear France from her window. The traffic and scenery were always clashing together here, creating a confusing atmosphere of languor and romance, especially in Paris. Every corner had its charm and decay; every bunch of flower and vendors seemed to glow in technicolor, offering you the sweetest of temptations. It was why Emma Swan chose to live in this overrated, gorgeous and blacked city.

It was only fair to say, Emma saw herself in Paris.

 

She had been seeking for something since decades ago, or someone to be exact.

Yes, Emma was looking for her true love. Cliché, the most common thing among the ordinaries, yet, so special. She had her chance at happiness; but she lost her love because of her own foolishness and naivety (Regina, her bitter-sweet paradoxical Regina…). Emma wondered if a creature, born in the darkest of the night like her had another chance at happiness.

She looked at herself in the mirror. “Pale” was the first word that came to her mind. “Blood-lust” was the second. Emma knew what she was like in the others’ eyes; she saw it through the eyes of the passersby, clerks, teenagers, scoundrels and many others. They would see a young woman, delicate with silky blonde hair that glowed under the pale moonlight; with eyes curious and hazel with golden specks, transparent with sorrow and sympathy.

But Emma was anything but fragile.

She put on a good façade, only her kind would see through it and laugh, lecture her about her stubbornness and carelessness. No, today was another infuriating bright day in Paris, and Emma would not waste her time brooding over her mistakes.

 

“Hey, love. Wake up.”

Emma traced her fingers along the human’s cheekbone. How vulnerable and breakable. She started to press feather-like kisses on the girl’s bare shoulder.

“Hmm…good morning, Sarah.”

Of course, she had been living under an alias; the people in her life didn’t need something so cruel and so real.

“Last night was fun.”

_So blunt and carefree, like a mortal._

 

“Yes indeed. I hope you’re satisfied.”

Emma purred. The girl swallowed thickly as Emma sensed her obvious arousal.

“Goodbye.”

Emma kissed the girl on the cheek and whispered in her ear.

“I’m dory love, but you’re going to forget me after you walk out of my door.”

The young, innocent girl nodded blankly and followed her instructions.

Emma watched her silhouette disappeared and sighed. Once again, she was all alone in her house.

With a snap of her fingers, Emma changed herself into a pair of jeans, a white blouse and a pair of loafers with her white magic, and she went for her usual stroll in the morning.

Her routing was quite simple—take long strolls to anywhere her heart desired, as long as there was a place to sit and stay. She would observe the world and write.

Emma was behind numerous successful writers since she didn’t want to be found. Her perspective was “sharp and unique with sadness” according to a female writer who was a promising-then-rising-star after their activities in bed.

She actually remembered every single “lovers” she had; that woman with such hope and dreams for her career and her liveliness had interested Emma with enthusiasm and passion. Of course, after less than 5 sentences Emma found out they were not meant to be; they did share a cigarette after mind-blowing orgasms.

 

_It’s a burden when you know people too well. For someone like Emma, loving people is also too heavy a burden._

 

Emma found herself drown to a crowded café. She stood in front of the store and pondered if she should go in. Well, her instinct did bring her here.

She pushed open the door.

The café wasn’t very quiet; whispers, laughter, and jazz all mingled together in the background. But overall, it was a nice, neat little place with ample sunlight ( _the “vampires are afraid of the sun” is bs_ ).

Emma stepped in. Everyone seemed to sense that something was off, and they went quiet for a second. Some of the customers took casual glances at her and then forgot what they were doing.

Emma walked to a seat in the corner swiftly. The shop buzzed back to normal.

The sixth-sense of people was funny; it was the closest thing they could ever relate to magic or magical beings. For example, vampires. But most of the times, the earthlings chose to ignore them. They refused to _believe_.

She settled herself and stared in odd content at her notebook and pen. She was a big fan of conventional methods (maybe because she was born three hundred years ago?); needless to say, some old habits die hard.

A waiter came and asked timidly if she wanted anything. Emma responded in a cool tone that she wanted black and nothing else, not bothering to look at him. If only he knew Emma could smell his emotions…

She was a vampire that had pretty much every ability like her kind—but not with the mindreading—plus a little magic that she learned from her very special queen lover. Those abilities, some of the times, were very handy. But most of the times, Emma wished she never had those. They came with prices, and she knew better, they were too much to pay.

The waiter walked away rather disappointed.

Emma tied her hair in a messy ponytail and picked up one of her tools, relishing the touch of the wooden sensation and the weight of that a pencil.

She loved words, they were therapeutic and beautiful in their own unique way. Emma could make the words sing and the pen scratching paper was harmony in her ears. Once she started, she could do this all day, sinking in the whispers and sweet nothings she created.

Not today.

The café’s door was pushed open again. Under other circumstances, Emma wouldn’t waste another second to observe an ordinary stranger crossing her timeless path. But she was at that moment, searching for inspirations. Emma looked up impassively and threw a glance at the woman that just walked in.

 

And she froze.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update...but here it is!

After everything she had been through, she thought she could finally have her happy ending.

First, her identity was stolen like some scene from the soap operas; because of her braveness and naivety, she actually made friends with the name-thief and “accidentally” slept with her new friend’s murderous-ex-husband-slash-sociopath.

_Ain’t life a bitch._

Nellie took her friend’s—Julia’s—small apartment in Paris and tried to turn over a new page of her life. She met a wonderful guy named Patrick, and she was pregnant.

Everything she had wished for came true after the storm-like accident. But men in France (especially in Paris) were downright romantic and always followed their hearts (which meant having a huge dick in their heads).

Similar things had taken place before…when her husband got his mistress pregnant. Deja vu, her life was like a bad-written play.

The Patrick guy ran off with a girl ten years younger than Nellie, leaving a pathetically small amount of money behind for her. She had been raising Angie alone.

Angela, her daughter, was 6 now and she swore Angie was the true love of her life. Nellie now worked as a private English tutor like Julia did when she stole her identity. She was content with her life like this, living peacefully with her sweet daughter in a small domestic apartment in Paris.

Deep down, she was afraid.

The mix of anxiety, fear and some sort of insatiability, constantly gnawed at her heart. It grew especially at night when she was all alone in her bed. She would all of a sudden felt empty and sad, overwhelmed with urges just to cuddle with someone.

She was afraid of living like this, alone. Having no other person to share her emotions, giving her a shoulder to cry on, and to make love to each other.

She missed something more than mediocre romance. She missed being deeply in love.

 

It was a very sunny day, everything was upbeat and alive. Nellie dropped her kid off, kissed her on the forehead and said goodbye, curving the urge of calling her daughter to not leave her again.

She wandered around the corner, not sure why she suddenly craved some brown hot liquid with a strong bitter-sweet flavor.

Nellie usually didn't have such a strong desire for caffeine, but maybe it was a women thing.

 

_No proper sex for years?_

Nellie sighed inwardly and went into a random café, which was decent and warm-looking enough. _Must be the hormones._

The smell of fresh coffee beans filled her with a pleasant rush, but that was definitely not the only thing that had given her the odd giddiness.

She felt a set of eyes piercing through her.

Nellie met the stranger’s eyes daringly. It was a woman, probably 5 years younger than herself, with golden hair, hazel eyes, and a delicate face.

There was something about her that was intriguing; a feeling that the stranger didn’t belong to this place yet she looked as still as the way she always was.

A perfect, immovable being.

The sight had stirred something queer and foreign inside of her.

Nellie forced herself to tear her eyes away from the unblinking stranger, went to the barista and ordered. She was still looking at the woman from the corner of the eye and was strangely relieved to see the woman had gone back to her former administrations—writing.

She indulged herself to take a full glance at her, and this time, the woman shot her head up, meeting her eyes in an instant.

Her hair was smooth and silky, and her eyes were so deep and unreadable; her skin was alabaster—pale, almost. Her had dainty features yet…strong, sharp in ways that you wouldn’t forget. To her surprise, the woman smiled warmly and tentatively at Nellie, as if she was treating something fragile.

The scene was breathtaking, the shift of the woman’s expression. The stranger had gone from a stone-cold statue to a softer creature. Nellie smiled unsurely back, heart pounding a little faster.

It was not until a tap on her shoulder did she realized her beverage was ready. She blushed and muttered a “thank you” to the clerk. She turned around and was slightly startled with the presence of the stranger, now standing behind her with gleaming eyes. Nellie gripped her coffee tightly and rushed out of the door, ignoring her burning hand.

She caught her saying something like... refilling her coffee in French. Her voice was serene and rich, softer than any other utterance people could imagine. The kind of voice you could listen all day on the radio, on a lazy Sunday afternoon with iced-lemon and sunshine that kissed upon your skin—

Someone grasped her arm softly and broke her reveries. She spun around and saw the woman clutching her scarf that she must have had left in the shop.

The mysterious woman smiled, showing her dimples. Being caught-off-guard, Nellie quickly said “thank you”, realized she was probably French, then said “merci” to the woman.

She grinned in surprise.

“Wait! You’re also an American?”

“Yes! Wow…”

Nellie beamed.

“Well, it’s always a pleasant surprise to bump into someone who is easier to talk to. You know, without translating everything before you speak.”

The woman chuckled and tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh believe me. I know. After 6 years of living here, old habits die hard.”

Nellie was suddenly self-conscious.

“I’m Emma by the way.”

_Emma…what a familiar name in a peculiar way…_

“I’m Nellie. Nellie Givens.”

The woman studied her features and searched her eyes. A flash of something that Nellie didn’t quite understand appeared on Emma’s face.

“You certainly look like a Nellie!”

She grinned. Nellie chuckled.

_If she only knows my story._ Nellie mused.

“Do you want to have coffee sometime? It’d be nice to make a friend in this strange city.”

“You just moved here?”

“No, but it never feels like home.”

Emma shrugged, eyes clouded with a thin layer of sorrow; the emotion disappeared too fast to be caught. Nellie had a sudden urge to comfort this stranger.

“Of course! I mean, I would love to have coffee with you.”

Emma smiled genuinely towards Nellie and looked into her eyes. They were both enchanted for a while, unaware of their surroundings.

“Oh! Right. Here’s my number.”

Nellie quickly scribbled down on a piece of napkin and handed it to Emma. Emma took the paper, accidentally (or not) brushed Nellie’s index finger, sending a not-so-unpleasant sensation down her spine.

She stared at the paper and chewed on her lips. Emma’s lips were blood-red, plumped after her white teeth made contacts.

Why was she looking at her lips anyway?

“I memorized it. I’ll write mine on the back.”

Emma winked, taking the pen out of Nellie’s fingers in a swift and casual way.

_More contacts._ Nellie was almost certain that the woman enjoyed touching her.

“There.”

Emma gave the napkin and pen back to her, and Nellie carefully avoided her fingers this time.

“Hmm. I’d hate to hold you up.”

Nellie smiled and studied Emma’s face. Her face was back to a wistful, unreadable expression.

“Call me then. Au revoir!”

Emma smiled a little and waved her goodbye, walked back to the café without turning back.

Nellie was somehow frozen, clutching her things and forgot what she was about to do.

Oh. Her napkin. She stared at Emma’s handwriting. It was more than graceful like the words were going to spring from the napkin.

She also signed after her number. _Emma Swan._

Nellie absentmindedly traced her thumb over the name.

“Miss Swan…”

She murmured under her breath, relishing in the strange sensation when the name glided over her tongue.

_What’s wrong with her today?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swanqueen has better fandom. Everyone should come to the gay side.  
> (No offense I'm jk)

**Author's Note:**

> I promise Regina would appear soon. Bear with me.  
> I was determined to save this fic that I wrote rather haphazardly a long time ago. So, I might not update that soon. Just so you know.  
> Thanks for reading this! Thoughts? Comments are welcomed!


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